Latimer's Law. Mel Sterling

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СКАЧАТЬ sat at the table, hands behind her back, sweating in the sauna heat of the humid sky. The table was out in the sun, and the sweet black shade of the nearby moss-hung oaks taunted her.

      What had just happened here? She would have sworn the man had started off in a murderous fury, having every intention of packing her off to the police. Somewhere in his interrogation of her the tone had subtly shifted from one of anger to one of curiosity.

      She eyed him where he perched on the incongruously small stool and leaned his back against one of the tall cypress knees that jutted from the river’s edge. His fishing line trailed lazily in the slow-flowing water, and every few minutes he reeled it in and flicked it back upstream to float past again.

      He sat with the scarred side of his face toward her. Now she had the leisure to study it, and reflect on some of her limited nursing training, the few years she’d had before taking a professional course designed to focus on adult day care in support of the business. It looked like a chemical burn of some sort, raised and raw-looking, ropy and rough in places, shiny and slick in others. The outer end of his left eyebrow was missing, giving him a somewhat quizzical appearance. He was fortunate that the worst of the chemicals had missed his eye. Even from a distance she could see his thick sandy lashes, which gave his startling blue eyes a deceptively sleepy look.

      His T-shirt fit him closely, limning muscles in his arms and chest and showcasing his flat belly between the open lapels of his fishing vest. With the single exception of the scar, he was a man she would have turned to watch on a street. Lean and strong, hair that was more gold than brown, tall. He had a way of moving that spoke of ease and friendliness, until his eyes caught those of an observer and the wariness surfaced. His voice, once the anger had drained away, was quiet and firm with only a slight trace of a Southern accent in the vowels.

      She had liked his laugh.

      Abby frowned at this thought. Overthinking this man’s general attractiveness was beyond pointless. Shortly he would tire of waiting for her to talk. He would shut her in the back of his truck and haul her off to the county sheriff. He had every right to do it.

      She wondered if the lawmen would give her a break if she showed them her bruises and filed charges against Marsh. It wasn’t the first time she’d fantasized about reporting Marsh’s various crimes. She was pretty sure she could make an assault charge stick, and maybe even domestic abuse. But it would mean facing him down in public, and he was so far inside her guard that he knew every last secret, every weakness. He had pried up the edges of all her insecurities and peered beneath to where her doubts and fears lurked, and he had magnified them.

      The telephone rang at all hours. It was a comfort knowing he thought about her, even at six in the morning or eleven at night.

      “How was the day? Got any good stories for me, Abigail?”

      “Oh...nothing fun. Just the usual grind. And messes. Sam had a bad seizure, so I had to call the ambulance, which upset everyone else. Rosemary cried and broke her soup bowl. Tomato soup everywhere. The new girl from the agency is still getting the hang of things, so most of the work is on me.”

      “Ah, Abigail, honey. I’m so sorry. Tomorrow will be better, I’m sure. In fact, I’ll guarantee it for you.”

      “Thanks, Marsh. I know you can’t do anything from there, but it’s just so good to hear a friendly voice. Someone who understands.”

      “Have you got any of that merlot I bought you left?”

      “A little.” Smiling to herself now, picturing his charming grin and the way the cork had resisted him when he opened that first bottle and they’d toasted Gary’s picture on the mantelpiece the night of the funeral. Two shared bottles and a crying jag later, she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder with his arm around her and the light cotton throw from the back of the sofa drawn across them both.

      Or a wake-up call, when she was drowsy and unguarded, warm with sleep and alone in a bed meant for two people.

      “Hey, there...how’s my gray-eyed sister-in-law this fine morning?”

      “It’s raining here.”

      “I didn’t catch you last night—I called a couple times but you didn’t answer. Were you out?”

      “Yeah...what time is it?”

      “Still early. You’ve got time to get a little more shut-eye, but I wanted to say hello before I have to start my commute. Were you out with Judy?”

      “Yeah. She made me go dancing with her and her hubby. Said I needed a little smoky air and loud music.”

      “Abigail...it’s too soon for that.”

      “I know. I came home early.”

      “I wish I was there with you.”

      “Me, too.”

      As the weeks after the funeral dragged on, she began changing her schedule to be home when she thought Marsh might call. She told friends she was fine, just tired.

      Abby wrenched her mind back again. She had to focus, and try to relax. Her left shoulder was cramping, and she rotated it slowly as far as she was able with her wrists behind her. She kept one eye on the dog, hoping that none of her movements would be interpreted as aggression and trigger a reaction. Dogs had never frightened her, but she had a healthy respect for this one’s teeth and intelligence and exceptional training.

      Even more than respecting the dog, she respected his owner. That brought a question to mind. What did a man like him need with this sort of dog? What line of work was he in? Abby traced along this path like a bloodhound on a scent. He carried a gun, he knew how to secure a criminal—for criminal she was, like it or not—and he had a well-trained police dog at his command.

      The question popped out before she could stop it. “Are you a cop?”

      She thought he stiffened, but he did not turn and she couldn’t be certain. “Why do you ask?”

      “It would explain a few things.”

      “As I keep telling you, you’re the one who needs to do the explaining. Have you thought about that a little more?” Lazily he reeled in the line, flicked it back out into the river, the reel whirring and the lure landing with a faint plop. Abby watched the rings ripple out and dwindle, erased by the flow of the tea-brown water.

      “There’s just...really, nothing to explain. I’ve told you the truth. I’m running from some personal things and lost my head.”

      “You keep saying that, but I’m like those TV junkies who sit home staring at the Hollywood gossip shows. I want the dirt.”

      Despite herself a rueful laugh forced its way past her lips. “What I wouldn’t give to be back at home staring at the TV.” Even reminding Rosemary to share the television remote would be better than the stomach-roiling anxiety she was feeling now. It was hard to decide which was worse: the fear she’d be arrested and jailed for what she’d done, or the certain nightmare when Marsh caught up with her.

      “I guess it would be better if you hadn’t started down this road, huh, Abigail?”

      “No kidding.” She fell silent. Sweat trickled down her spine, making her itch as it went. She wondered if she was flexible enough to wriggle backward through the СКАЧАТЬ